


Wonderful

by naive_wanderer



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: F/M, Gen, spoilers through end of series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-14
Updated: 2007-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naive_wanderer/pseuds/naive_wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[He thought, Akito is dead, and he felt nothing.] Yuki knows better than to think the breaking of the curse solved everything, especially in a family like his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderful

Yuki woke up and thought, _I don’t feel like combing my hair,_ so he didn’t.

He brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and put on the same pants he’d been wearing the day before (with his cell phone still in the front right pocket). He picked a shirt at random and stepped outside onto the deck in bare feet, without even checking to see if he’d buttoned it properly. His stomach was aching with hunger, a jabbing reminder that he’d skipped dinner the night before, but he didn’t even attempt to rectify this with breakfast. For the first time Yuki could remember he was fully awake at dawn, and his body, unaccustomed to and unprepared for this, shivered in the early-morning cool.

It was wonderful.

He walked aimlessly, his bare feet almost silent against the polished wood floor, until the deck ended suddenly against a railing. The main house was a familiar presence around Yuki, not particularly creepy, but full of memories that were uncomfortable in the way that all things were when they were supposed to have been left behind. He turned and walked back, carefully determining his steps in exact, precise distances, and thought with a fleeting swoop of joy-mixed-with-bitterness in his stomach of how much Machi would hate how perfectly measured it was. Then he thought, _I don’t want to think about Machi,_ but then of course all he could think about was her obsession with Mogeta, and her temper, and her warmth, and how she had not called him in two weeks, and how he had not told her where he was going or even that he had left his apartment. How he had not told her and probably could _never_ tell her about the old curse. He thought, _We are falling apart,_ and it made him sad-but-not.

He thought, _Akito is dead,_ and he felt nothing.

When he mused on it Yuki supposed that it was probably a little bit more than ‘nothing,’ and that it might be part of the reason he felt no aim in his walking and no reason to even be awake (but that he had awakened earlier and easier than he could ever remember doing), but he was perfectly content to leave it at that. Akito had always been sickly, after all; it was not surprising.

He stepped inside and wandered the halls; imagined he was Ayame and that he was moving swiftly, purposefully, and pretended it was easy to ignore one small child amidst the haunted and weathered décor. Yuki gave this up quickly – it was disturbing and it made him bitter, and it was unfair to be bitter now; he had decided that years ago. He stopped for a moment and watched the sun rise higher through a large circular window, then moved again.

There was an emptiness in him nowadays, not at all unpleasant but empty all the same, that had not lessened even in the six or so years since the curse had broken. Yuki sometimes wondered if the other former Juunishi felt the same; if they felt at once more whole than they’d ever been, yet that they had lost a defining piece of who they were. Of course, Yuki favored the way things were now, and the emptiness was infinitely preferable to the suffocating restrictions of the curse, but he could not pretend that, wandering the halls of this old house, he did not feel distinctly like a betrayer.

The world was beginning to awaken around him. Yuki ignored the servants’ greetings and refused their offers of breakfast, but once their backs had turned he snatched a pear from someone else’s tray when he could no longer breezily ignore his stomach. He could hear people talking amongst themselves in the subdued but eerily normal tones that followed death, their voices still heavy with sleep. Stepping outside onto the pavement with his pear, in his bare feet, Yuki passed Kagura, who gave him a little wave, and Momiji, who, to Yuki, looked comically tall for someone he still remembered as an excitable kid. All of the former Juunishi had come, almost without question, for the funeral; Yuki wondered if they had been propelled by the same unspoken understanding that had brought him here: a weird reverence for the keeper of their old curse and, more importantly, the knowledge that it would be the last time he would ever, ever be expected to return.

He passed a few of the smaller houses and moved into the grass, which was colder and wetter but much softer on his feet than the pavement, and kept walking; he had never fully appreciated the vastness of the main house grounds, and it suddenly seemed incredibly interesting to take note of all the little details he had not had time to see as a child, in his rushes to sneak out without being caught. A statuette here, an unnecessary door embellishment there; plants everywhere, which he tended to like, but nothing useful so much as pretentiously decorative. He caught sight of Haru and Rin walking together in the distance, towards the main building, but didn’t try to catch their attention. He was approaching the main gate now; he moved toward one of the guest houses at random and stepped onto the deck, then rounded the corner to find Tohru sitting on the steps, a thin sweater draped around her shoulders.

Yuki had known she was pregnant for quite some time, of course, and he had had the past several days to become accustomed to her swollen belly, but it still made him double-take every time he looked at her. There was no question that there was a rightness in the idea of Tohru becoming a mother, but sometimes in Yuki’s mind she was still the sixteen-year-old girl who had always looked at him so gently. He took another bite of his pear.

“Yuki-kun!” she greeted, and it gave him some comfort to know that she hadn’t lost her customary smile; that Kyo had somehow managed not to ruin it and that she was indeed living a happy life. Chewing, Yuki sat down beside her and stared out at the now mostly empty grounds.

“Have you been staying in this house?” he asked at length, because he had not even noticed this entire week, and was bit startled that his voice sounded the same as it always had. He did not know why he had expected it to sound different. He took one last bite of pear and tossed the remains carelessly onto the grass, thinking that Machi would quite enjoy the sight.

“Yes,” Tohru confirmed cheerfully. Then, with a bit of embarrassment, “Um… I don’t think many of the older servants wanted Kyo-kun in the main house, and I tried to argue but he said it was fine if we just took a guest house, so here we are!”

Yuki almost said “that’s stupid,” but stopped himself, worried that Tohru might misinterpret the statement; instead he told her, “It’s all right. I think I’m one of the few actually staying in the main building… Shigure is, obviously, he lives there, and probably Ayame and Kureno are there also, though I haven’t really seen them around.”

“Shigure-san must be taking it hard,” Tohru said, a little too sadly, and Yuki nodded his agreement; he had hardly seen Shigure over the week, which in itself was a sign of how he was probably taking it, but he didn’t feel close enough to his cousin to have the right to seek him out. Yuki felt a sudden rush of realization at his stupidity – he was certainly close enough to Tohru to offer comfort, and of course, Tohru being Tohru, she had somewhat befriended Akito, and he had been too caught up in his own troubles be sympathetic…

He opened his mouth to apologize just as Kyo rounded the corner, stretching, and said loudly, “What do you want for breakfast, Tohru?”

Yuki did not see them on a day-to-day basis anymore, and seeing the dynamics of their relationship – after being so used to their dysfunctional household through high school – made him double-take just as often as Tohru’s pregnancy did. Tohru’s eyes were only for Kyo, her demeanor so obviously brightened just by the former Cat’s presence that Yuki suddenly felt quite measly.

“Curry buns,” she announced definitely. Kyo faltered a little, not even aware of Yuki sitting on the steps watching them; it felt almost more awkward to be around them as a married couple, now that Yuki’s own relationship was failing, than it had been so long ago when they were both in denial.

“Curry buns?” Kyo repeated incredulously, scratching the back of his neck. “For breakfast? You wouldn’t rather have miso soup, or fruit or something?”

“Curry buns,” Tohru confirmed. “Oh, and fruit sounds nice, too! Grapes sound very good. Though I would definitely like some curry buns, please. Or I can ask to use the kitchen and cook something myself – ”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Kyo, then continued in a bit of a panic, “I mean, you shouldn’t have to cook, we’re _guests._ I’m sure I can easily find you some curry buns… are there any stores open at this hour?”

“The convenience stores should just be opening about now,” Yuki interjected, and both Kyo and Tohru looked around in surprise at the sound of his voice. Yuki thought, _just like high school,_ and the normalcy of it all was both comforting and completely, utterly unbearable. Kyo looked him over – the messy hair and the horribly buttoned shirt and the dusty pants with bare feet – and said, “You look terrible, are you sick?”

“Thanks,” said Yuki. “I said, the convenience stores should be opening around now.”

“Oh yeah,” said Kyo. “Tohru, I’ll just go get some curry buns and I’ll be right back.”

“Oh no, don’t trouble yourself!” exclaimed Tohru. “I wanted to stretch a little anyway, I can get them myself – ” She started to rise to wobbly feet, her large belly obviously giving her quite a bit of trouble, and Yuki felt a surge of panic in his chest that she might fall – she was Tohru, after all, it was practically a given. He stood and grabbed her by her right elbow just as Kyo grabbed her left.

“It’s not a problem!” Kyo proclaimed as they both steadied her, trying so forcefully to sound reassuring that his voice came out overly loud. “It’s not a problem, you just stay here, I’ll get the buns!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Tohru cried, eyes actually welling with tears and clearly just as panicked that she had caused _him_ to panic. Yuki let her go and stepped back a little on the deck. “I’m sorry, I’m just so restless, and I really, _really_ would like curry buns!”

“It’s all right, just – you know – relax,” Kyo told her pointedly, a little taken aback, and rubbed her shoulder. “Look, I don’t think you should walk that far so… maybe we could borrow Hatori’s car?” He looked up at Yuki for confirmation, and Yuki, feeling uncomfortable and detached, gave a little shrug. Kyo seemed satisfied enough with this answer, and so, with a little apologetic wave from Tohru, the couple descended the steps and started in the direction of Hatori’s house.

Yuki felt something twist deep in his chest as he, too, stepped back onto the pavement. The morning cool was giving way to the not unpleasant spring warmth, and his stomach was still protesting its lack of food. “I’m sorry!” he shouted before he could stop himself, and both Tohru and Kyo, only a few feet ahead of him, looked back. “Tohru-san, I’m sorry!”

For a moment Tohru looked as though she might burst into sobs, but then she stepped forward without pretense and wrapped him in as tight a hug as her belly would allow, the first time Yuki could remember her doing so. She whispered so quietly he was sure only he could hear, “I’m sorry too, Yuki-kun. You don’t owe Akito-san anything, I’m so, so sorry.” Yuki thought, _Why are you saying it like that, she was your friend, not mine, never mine,_ but he thought of his early childhood and how he and Akito had gotten along, back then, as much as two children forced together could, and he thought of how much she had taken from him, and everything he had gone through to build it back, and how pointless, pointless it seemed now that he was standing at the end of the ordeal. He could feel tears start to wet the shoulder of his crookedly-buttoned shirt and then Tohru pulled away, face flushed, and hastily wiped her eyes. “We should all get together some time before we have to leave again,” she said with a watery smile. “It makes me very happy, seeing all the Sohmas again! I’d really like to do something with everyone before I pop!” She motioned to her belly with a little laugh.

“Yes,” said Yuki, trying to give her a reassuring smile. “Just let me know when.”

“Are you guys all right?” Kyo interjected, and Tohru, wiping her eyes again, gave her husband a little nod and smile as they began to walk again. Yuki watched them go, then turned abruptly and set off on his own, his feet back on the grass, feeling like a ridiculous child as he pulled a perfectly groomed flower from its bush and tossed it over a statuette. The cell phone in his pocket started to ring, the plain, stupid jingle that had been originally programmed into it that he’d never bothered to change; he ignored it and viciously pulled a lily-pad out of a decorative pond. It rang again and this time, after throwing the lily-pad across the yard, he rummaged for it. A glance at the screen showed him that it was Machi, and something in him screamed _but she hasn’t called for two weeks._

“Y-Yuki!?” she shouted as soon as he’d answered. “Your apartment, you – where are you!?”

Yuki debated his answer for a few moments. “Death in the family,” he told her, simply, and forced his hand to relax when he realized how tightly he was gripping the phone. “I’m at my family’s main house back home.” And he didn’t think he would have to bother explaining about the main house, or where ‘back home’ was. There was a long stretch of silence, and then Machi’s voice, timid like it had been around him in high school: “Sorry.”

“Me too,” said Yuki, surprised at how honest it felt to say. He thought, _Akito is dead,_ and wondered how he would feel if it was the day after Machi’s funeral, or Tohru’s, or anybody’s, anybody else’s, because it still suddenly dawned on him sometimes that he actually had friends. Friends which he cared about infinitely more than Akito, for all he had forgiven her, and there was a part of him, now that he thought about it, that felt disgustingly _relieved_ that she had died.

Yuki sat down in the grass, his cell phone still to his ear even though neither he nor Machi was speaking, and thought that, tomorrow, he would dress himself properly, and eat more than a single pear, and wear shoes when he walked out of the main house finally free of all real and imagined formal obligations to his family. He twirled a blade of grass between his fingers and thought that, undeniably, he would return to them anyway because he wanted to, and that it made all the difference in the world.

He thought, _Akito is dead,_ and he would not miss her, but he was sorry for Shigure, and Tohru, and the people who _would_ miss her. He thought, as he saw Kisa and Hiro walking some distance away, that he was sorry for all the former Juunishi, all of whom were probably just as confused about it as he was. He could hear Machi breathing heavily through his cell phone, probably trying to suppress her panic, and thought, _We are falling apart,_ but he wondered if it was entirely impossible to rearrange the pieces for a better fit.

“You know, Machi,” he told her, “I didn’t comb my hair today. I barely changed my clothes, I’ve been walking around outside barefoot eating a pear, and I woke up earlier than I thought it was possible for me to be awake. I didn’t realize how cold it can be in the morning. It was kind of nice.”

It was a mark of how much Machi had grown that she had no trouble answering him. “It’s wonderful,” she agreed, sincerely.


End file.
